


November

by offensiveagentpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, mostly just implied Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:12:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveagentpie/pseuds/offensiveagentpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Dean was a more poetic man, he’d admit that Cas reminds him of November.</p>
            </blockquote>





	November

If Dean was a more poetic man, he’d admit that Cas reminds him of November. Or is it November that reminds Dean of Cas? He’s not entirely sure.

He thinks of a wide forest, mostly passing by in flashes from a car window, trees barren with the exception of a few still covered in nearly dead rust colored leaves. He thinks of the smell of leaves burning, of bonfires, of decay slowly settling in.

Maybe it’s something about Fall being the one season that lingers. The one season that really makes the transition into the next look like a struggle to last…to endure. November is about holding on, clinging on to the last shreds of life. Like it’s in a fight against the desolation and quiet pristine beauty of Winter. 

That, he supposes, is where Cas comes in. That clinging, desperate hope, that desire to hold on…that haunting sort of lingering that Cas does in both real life and his thoughts. It makes a grinding ache start beneath his ribs.

He scrubs a hand over his face, noting the rasp of stubble that’s getting out of hand, as his head lulls to the side. He takes in the overcast and fading gray sky outside that lead him down this road of thought in the first place. The burn in his veins of one beer too many is pulling at his eyelids as he flops back onto the hard motel bed.

‘Cas,’ he murmurs, and his voice is so raspy and ragged that he barely even recognizes it as his own. ‘I don’t know where you’re at man, but I’m gonna tell you something that I’m definitely gonna fucking regret in the morning.’ He pauses, rubbing at his eyes and feeling so, so tired. ‘I don’t know any other way to say it or anything, but _damn it_ …’ the last two words come out louder than he wanted them to, and Sam stirs on the next bed over.

Dean chews his lip, it’s already chapped and busted but he does it anyway, relishing and focusing on the small spike of pain it causes. He decides, after a moment to go the silent prayer route, and thinks three words, three damning words, as hard as he possibly can.

He closes with an ‘amen’, because Cas insists that it’s proper to do so, and waits. There’s no surge of air, no rustle of wings, no burning smell of ozone and dead leaves…nothing but the faint sounds of traffic on the highway outside.

Dean falls asleep feeling sick to his stomach and oh so alone.

It’s not until the following morning, when he wakes with a pounding headache and a mouth that feels like he slept with it filled with cotton and sand , that he remembers that Cas can no longer hear him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a few months old, and honestly, I never expected to do anything with it. That is, until my friend areyoshi over on tumblr read it in my rough draft notebook and insisted that I publish it.
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out.
> 
>  
> 
> I do hope you enjoy it.


End file.
